Ddlg Caption Novels & Stories

Colter Giordano, my fiancé of six years, heir to the Giordano family, took a bullet for a dancer named Mia. He didn't take one for me. A bullet tore through my shoulder. Blood bloomed across my dress, hot and sticky. But my heart hurt worse. He asked if I was okay. Just once. Then he rushed Mia to the hospital, leaving me bleeding on the floor. The next day, Mia's picture popped up on my Instagram feed. There she was, in a luxury hospital suite. Colter was fussing over a scratch on her arm that was barely there. The caption was just two words: "My Hero." I liked the post. Then I made an encrypted call. "The Falcone family's offer," I said. "I'm taking it. Get me on a plane to Sicily. Three days."

To help my surgeon husband with his erectile dysfunction, I made an appointment with an expert six months in advance. But as the day approached, Isiah Coleman canceled it without explanation. Just as I was about to call him to demand answers, I spotted a post from his female friend on her social media. My usually stoic husband was beaming as he wrapped his arms around her. The caption read: [Only I can cure your illness.] What struck me, though, was the telltale bulge in his pants in the photo—a reaction I'd never seen from him with me. With a cold laugh, I liked the post and left a comment: [What a miracle worker!] The post exploded, with everyone speculating whether I'd confront the mistress. But what awaited him after the holiday was our freshly printed divorce certificate.

Seven years into my marriage, my wife’s assistant Jonah Johnson showed off a multi-million dollar racecar on his social media. The caption was, “I love my job, but I love my boss even more!” As soon as I liked his post, I was blocked from it. My wife immediately called to yell at me. “Jonah just signed a huge contract, so I gave him a little reward. Did you have to scold him on social media over something like that? Don’t push your limits just because I’m kind to you!” I heard Jonah blaming himself and my wife Nia comforting him on the other side of the phone. Before I could say anything else, she hung up on me and blocked my number. The next instant, Jonah posted a screenshot of a million-dollar transfer. I knew that was Nia’s way of consoling and compensating him. This time, however, I did not care anymore.

Before Mom's surgery, Mason—yeah, the Mason Leonhart from one of Brighton's big-name families—suddenly "had" to go on a business trip and couldn't be at the hospital. A few hours later, Judy Yeager blasted a video on social. There was Mason, Mr. Born-With-A-Silver-Spoon, recycling bottles with her. Caption: [If we work hard together, no hardship can scare us.] I couldn't resist. [Future Leonhart heir, worth ten billion, still helping his girl recycle bottles to trade in for cash—heartwarming.] It vanished in seconds. My phone lit up. Mason's voice? Ice cold. "Shiloh Harrington, what was that? Call Judy. Tell her you were joking." I laughed. "Keep playing your little poor-boy cosplay without me." Hung up. Three days till the divorce cooling-off ended. Then Mason could be the broke man he was pretending to be.

Today is the sixth time my girlfriend, Shirley Lake, is supposed to meet my parents. My parents and I wait at the restaurant for four whole hours. I call her over and over again, but she never picks up. Just as I'm about to try one last time, I see Shirley's childhood sweetheart, Joshua Solomon, post a picture on his Instagram, with the location tagged at a suburban hotel. The picture shows a woman's pale back, one shoulder bare, with a striking red spider lily tattoo visible on her skin. Underneath the picture was the caption, "We'll make it from 18 to 80." A mutual friend comments, "First-love couples are the sweetest!" I silently hit the like button, then comment, "Make sure to get buried together when you die. And don't come back to haunt anyone else."

On the day I miscarried and suffered from haemorrhage, my husband posted a photo of a newborn’s tiny feet on his Instagram Story. The caption read: “Welcome, little angel. Daddy will always protect you.” With trembling hands, I called him. “The baby’s gone. Can you come to the hospital?” On the other end, I heard a baby crying, followed by the man’s impatient voice. “In that case, take good care of yourself. Louise just gave birth and needs someone to care for her. I can’t leave. “Besides, the dead shouldn’t compete with the living for affection. Got it?” He hung up right after. I broke down alone on the hospital bed, and when I finally wiped away my tears, I dialed the number of his sworn enemy, Levi Snow. “Marry me, and the entire Wright Corporation will be my dowry. All I want is for you to bring Finn Yeaton down. Do we have a deal?”

On Children's Day, the most popular social media post is about me. The caption is: "Mr. Shane Norton spends his birthday with his son David Norton and his first love, Ruth Feynman. Has he finally decided to divorce Ayla Sanderson?" I quietly press the "like" button. When my phone rings, I'm in the midst of taking down the balloons I put up for our wedding anniversary. "Honey." My husband sounds anxious as he tries to explain himself. "David suddenly insisted that we go to a theme park, so I—" In the background, I hear David laughing. "Dad, Ruthie says that I can sleep with her tonight!" I look at the mess in the house. The balloons are drooping, and the cream on the cake is congealed. "You don't have to explain," I hear myself say. "I understand." It's just that this time, I don't want you or David any longer, Shane.

On New Year's Eve, Facebook blew up. The reason was that Bennett Miles, the golden boy of Crestmoor’s elite, posted an update. In the photo, a shy young woman hid her face as she leaned against his shoulder while he grinned. His eyes were full of affection and mischief. His caption read, "What do I do? Looks like I'm officially taken." Friends in his circle flooded the comment section with congratulations. The real frenzy began when Bennett announced that the first 10,000 followers to like, share, and comment on the post would each receive a gold bar. The internet went wild with envy and curiosity. Everyone scrambled to find out more about the woman in the picture. Then, someone claiming to have inside information started a livestream. "Stop guessing. Her name is Kara Sierra. You know Sierra Hall at Crestmoor College? That building was named after her! "Two years ago, she had kidney failure. Bennett personally donated one of his own kidneys to save her!"

All along, I've been following a social media account that's dedicated to a couple sharing about their romance. It doesn't have a lot of followers, but the posts are all very heartwarming. The owner of the account records all the little details about his relationship with his girlfriend. They get into arguments over a plate of pasta before breaking into laughter and calling each other an overgrown child. They climb up the hill to hold each other under the sky full of stars, wishing they could make time pause at that very moment. Even though the owner of the account never reveals his face, I am always moved by the words he writes. The day before my wedding, the owner uploads a new post. "This marks the end of our ten-year relationship. From now on, she'll be his wife, and I'll only be his friend. There won't be any more updates to this account. I wish nothing but the best for my best friend and the woman he loves the most." The picture uploaded with this caption is one of my fiancee and me, taken from behind.

After seven years of secretly dating Ross Stockdale, I found a proposal folder hidden in his study. Inside were a seaside dinner plan, a fireworks schedule, and a handwritten vow card. I nearly cried from happiness. I thought Ross was finally going to bring me into the open and give me a home. But on our seventh anniversary, I saw a short video posted by Samora Leone. In the video, the Leone family’s private marina was lit like daylight. Fireworks burst over the water while Samora stood before the family representatives with her arm linked through Ross’s. The caption read: Thank you for loving me all these years. I said yes. The man in the video was Ross. His hand rested on Samora’s waist, and on his finger was the matching silver ring I had designed for him years ago. Everyone believed Samora was the long-lost daughter of the Leone family. They were wrong. The real Leone heir was me.